


Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;

by summerdayghost



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Bickering, Black Mary Jane Watson, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9209972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/pseuds/summerdayghost
Summary: "'In life, love gnawed my skinTo this white bone;What love did then, love does now:Gnaws me through.'"- Dialouge Between Ghost and Priest by Sylvia PlathOr in which Mary Jane can't find her mascara.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from Act 3 Scene 4 of Macbeth.
> 
> I'd like to thank my friend CJ for being so supportive of this story. When she saw my notes for this she told me she wanted it written up. If it wasn't for her enthusiasm, I'm not sure if this story would have gone any farther than notes.

This was getting ridiculous.

No, scratch that. This had passed ridiculous a few days ago when Mary Jane's favorite mug had been mysteriously smashed. She knew for a fact that she had not touched it since she put it away, but when she opened her cabinet that morning the Ariel mug was shattered.

Sure, she had other mugs. Sure, that mug was easily replaceable for it was likely available at every Disney store in the nation. Sure, the shards were all in a neat pile that made them easy to dispose of.

But that wasn't the point.

It was still her favorite mug.

On this particular afternoon she couldn't find a single tube of mascara. Now, Mary Jane was not known for her organizational prowess, but she did not fuck around when it came to her make up.

The mascara should have been in the second drawer of her make up case which she kept on the bathroom counter. The make up case was exactly where it belonged, but all five tubes of mascara were missing.

She rummaged through the other drawers and sections of the case hoping that she had simply put them in the wrong spot to no avail. They had simply vanished.

While she didn't actually need the mascara for work per say, not today anyway (it was only a read through), she liked wearing make up. It made her feel better about herself. It was for her.

To prevent the loss from becoming more frustrating than it already was Mary Jane decided to move on to something else. Perhaps the missing mascara would appear when she came back to it.

Accessories. That was what she would focus on for the moment. The importance of the accessory was often overlooked.

She opened her jewelry box only to find one of the mascaras staring back at her. It was by far her cheapest tube but she was thankful none the less.

Now she just had to find the other four.

~~~

The second tube of mascara was found amongst her breakfast cereals.

~~~

Liz shook her head, "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah but-"

"I mean, if it happened it me I wouldn't be complaining," she took another sip of her drink.

"I'm not complaining. It's just weird, that's all," Mary Jane said.

Mary Jane and Liz were sitting outside of their local Starbucks drinking an iced skinny mocha and a caramel macchiato respectively.

The current topic of conversation was the fact that when Mary Jane came home the other night all of her laundry was folded. There were no signs of forced entry and none of her valuables were missing.

Liz rolled her eyes, "Are you sure-"

"For the last time, I am pretty sure I didn't do it myself and then forget about it," she exasperatedly exclaimed.

"Okay, okay, okay. There's no need to get excited. I believe you." Liz took a sip of her drink, "Maybe you should call an exorcist."

"Come on, that would be silly."

In reality, Mary Jane was starting to think that calling an exorcist might be a fantastic idea.

~~~

The good thing about the absolute glut of long running crime procedurals was that one could always count on late night reruns.

It was two in the morning and Mary Jane wasn't entirely sure which show she was watching. All she was certain of was that she didn't want to go to bed yet. She knew would regret this, she had an early bird class the next day, but frankly she could not bring herself to give a damn.

Following Scooby Doo rules Mary Jane quickly decided that the janitor must be the culprit of this week's case. She was right. She punched the air.

Halfway into grabbing the remote Mary Jane stopped cold. She slowly turned her head to the side.

No one was there.

A second earlier Mary Jane could've sworn she had seen someone in her peripheral. A blonde someone. To be completely honest, she thought she might have seen Gwen sitting next to her.

~~~

Mary Jane still remembered the night Gwen Stacy died.

But just because she remembered it didn't mean that she liked to think about it.

~~~

It was a Saturday night and Mary Jane was curled up on her couch pigging out on chow mein and orange chicken. She was alone.

She was supposed to have a date but they cancelled on her. Oh well, it was their loss then.

The voice that came from behind her was faint, "Is that from that Chinese place that just opened near the Starbucks?"

Mary Jane felt as if her soul had momentarily jumped from her body. She recognized the voice but there was no way. No way in hell.

She turned around a saw a girl with a black headband in her blonde hair. Her green coat was open over a black sweater and purple tube skirt. Black boots went up to her mid calf.

She looked like she was from an old faded photo in comparison to her surroundings. The light nearly washed her out.

"G-Gwen? Is it really you?" Mary Jane choked out.

The figure nodded and repeated her question, "Is that from that Chinese place that just opened near the Starbucks?"

Mary Jane had momentary forgotten about the takeout box in her lap, "Oh, um it's from Silver Lotus, but that place has been open for like six years."

"It's new to me," Gwen said and Mary Jane remembered that Silver Lotus had only been open a month when she died, "I kinda wanted to try it. Never happened though. Is it any good?"

"Yeah. Well, at least I like it," Mary Jane gulped, "Are you the one that's been causing all this trouble?"

Gwen frowned, "It's just so hard."

Mary Jane was going to ask what exactly was so hard but Gwen abruptly vanished.

In a way that answered her question.

~~~

The third tube of mascara was incidentally between couch cushions.

~~~

The words "I'M SORRY" were written on the bathroom mirror in red lipstick. The messy lettering gave it away as Gwen's handiwork.

Scrubbing the mirror clean was a simple yet annoying task.

Mary Jane grabbed a post-it note and stuck it on the mirror.

The post-it note read: "Please don't waste anymore lipstick."

~~~

Having a haunted apartment was easier for Mary Jane to accept that she would have thought it would be.

Then again she did live in a world where people that could walk through walls, shape shifters, and Norse gods all existed. A ghost felt normal with all of this taken into consideration, in a strange way.

~~~

Arguing was exhausting. Especially when one was arguing with a thick headed old man that was set in his ways.

Mary Jane had to do this not only once, but twice in the span of several hours.

The first time was with her history professor. He had given her a D- on a paper that Mary Jane felt she had worked very hard on and deserved at least a B on. He cited historical inaccuracies as the reason for her poor grade.

What were these "historical inaccuracies" that he spoke of? That trans women of color were involved in the Stonewall Riots.

He claimed that there was no way that could be true. His argument rested entirely upon how the Stonewall Riots happened in the sixties (she was starting to think that maybe her professor truly believed that trans people were a recent invention).

She had to stand there and assert that yes, not only were trans women of color involved, they were essential. She couldn't believe that she had to explain to this man that Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, and Miss Major Griffin-Gracy were all real people that existed (hell, the last one was even still alive).

Things escalated (mostly, scratch that, entirely because he wasn't listening to her), and the confrontation ended with her screaming "And you call yourself a historian!"

The second time was with her director. The disagreement was over Mary Jane's interpretation of her character. It didn't matter that there were literally countless ways to interpret the character, apparently his way was the only right way (even though their interpretations were actually quite similar if one analyzed it).

He said something about her performance being too "street" and they had a brief verbal scuffle over whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.

When Mary Jane got home she was ready to put on her pajamas and jump directly into bed.

She took off her shirt as quickly as she could and let it fall to the floor. She could pick it up later. She unhooked her bra and let it join her shirt. Once she took off her bra it meant that she was officially logged out for the day.

"I hate your books. You need better ones."

Mary Jane immediately covered herself with her arm and spun around to find Gwen standing there, "Excuse me?"

Gwen raised her voice, "I said-"

"No, I heard you," Mary Jane quickly slipped on the oversized Spider-Man tee shirt she had been planning on wearing to bed for the sake of modesty, "First of all, you just burst in on me changing. That's more than just a little impolite."

"I'm sorry," from the look on her face if Gwen had blood vessels she would have been blushing.

"And second of all," Mary Jane continued, "on what grounds?"

"You only have six of them, two of which are on dieting, three on self help, and a copy of Pride and Prejudice, which I've already read. I mean who hasn't read that?"

Mary Jane crossed her arms, "I'm sure there are plenty of people that haven't read Pride and Prejudice."

Gwen gave off an incredulous air.

"I haven't read it," Mary Jane said quickly and quietly.

"What?" Gwen noticeably flinched, "You're even worse than I thought."

Mary shifted her weight to the other side, "Some of us have lives."

Gwen looked down at her boots obviously hurt.

Mary Jane threw her hands up, "Oh come on! You know that's not what I meant. If you hate my books so much go haunt someone else's apartment."

Gwen held firm, "Get better books."

"I have plenty of magazines around. Why don't you read those?" Mary Jane asked.

Gwen started fiddling with her thumbs, "I don't know who anyone is."

Mary Jane leaned forward, "What's that?"

Gwen but her lip, "Well, I was never the sort to really follow celebrities too closely, and I sorta did die five years ago. I have no clue who anyone in those magazines are."

Mary Jane smirked, "Consider it a learning exercise. I remember you liking those."

~~~

Mary Jane was in the process of re dyeing her hair when she finally asked, "Why me?"

Gwen appeared behind her in the bathroom mirror, "What do you mean?"

She slathered more red dye into her hair, "There are just other people you could be haunting. Other people it would make more sense for you to haunt. It's not like you have a supernatural attachment to my apartment. I got this place after you died."

"We were friends," Gwen shrugged.

"We were," Mary Jane nodded, "but I wasn't your closest friend. So, why me?"

Gwen tilted her head, "You want to know why I'm not haunting Peter." It was not a question.

"Guilty as charged," she sighed, "Look, its nice to see you, but if I would've expected you to spend your extended time on the mortal plane with him. Why me and not him?"

Gwen took a seat on the toilet, "I did go to Peter first. I would sit at his table and lay in his bed. Wander his home. Look through his pictures. Listen to his phone conversations. He never saw me. I never let him."

"But you're here now," Mary Jane said.

"He blames himself for my death," Gwen crossed her legs, "I got sick of his guilt."

Mary Jane blinked, "Why would he blame himself for your death?"

"He never told you, eh?" she looked up, "That's okay. He never told me either."

"Never told me what?" Mary Jane turned to face Gwen directly but she was gone again.

~~~

Peter dragged Mary Jane to a used bookstore on a Wednesday afternoon. He had heard that they were selling a copy of Charles Xavier's most recent book on theoretical genetics for just six dollars and fifty cents, and he just had to check it out. It was too good to be true.

In taking her to this place, Peter had forfeited his right to complain when she dragged him to a sale at the mall ever again. The bookstore was nice, but theoretical genetics just weren't her thing.

Waiting for Peter to finish up Mary Jane stumbled across an old beat up book of poems by Sylvia Plath. The name seemed familiar but she couldn't quite place it.

It was probably something entirely pretentious, but the price tag was only seventy-five cents so she picked it up.

On the way out of the store Peter was excitedly babbling about his new acquisition, "His works are actually quite controversial, you see. They're all about how mutants are natural and a good thing. That's why they usually cost an arm and a leg. The science is debatable, but no science is set in stone. If it was set in stone then it wouldn't be science."

Mary Jane hummed in agreement, "Hey, tiger?"

Peter raised an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

"Why do you blame yourself for Gwen's death?"

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, "Why do I-" he turned to face her, "Why would you ask that?"

Mary Jane bit her lip, "I asked because I want an answer."

"You never bring up Gwen," Peter shook his head, "Sometimes I forget you even knew her. Why is she on your mind now?"

Mary Jane wanted to correct Peter's assumption that her life was completely devoid of thoughts concerning Gwen but chose not to, "You're not answering my question."

"I don't blame myself for Gwen's death. That's ridiculous," he was clearly sweating, "Where would you even get that idea? I was just some sixteen year nosebleed at the time, I had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. What could I have done? Nothing, that's it. It's not like I'm Spider-Man or something."

"Uh-huh," she knew she wasn't going to get a different answer no matter how hard he pressed.

Fifteen minutes later when Peter bailed with an excuse too stupid not to be made up she let him.

~~~

Mary Jane didn't like to think about the night Gwen Stacy died.

But just because she didn't like to think about it doesn't mean that she could always stop herself.

~~~

Gwen was sitting on the couch with one of Mary Jane's magazines, "Brangelina got divorced! Did you know about this?"

"I know," Mary Jane sat down next to Gwen, "Hey, I got you something."

She set the poetry book on Gwen's lap.

Gwen put down the magazine and picked up the book. She scrutinized it, turning it over in her hands.

Gwen hugged the book to her chest, "Thank you."

Mary Jane smiled, "No problem."

Gwen frowned, "I'm sorry for all the trouble I cause. I really I am."

"I forgive you."

She didn't say it was okay because it wasn't.

~~~

The fourth tube of mascara was found stuffed inside a rarely worn shoe.

~~~

Gwen had really taken a liking to her new book. Whenever Mary Jane would eat at her table, Gwen would sit across from her reading. She must've read through that book thirty times minimum.

It was after two o'clock in the morning and Mary Jane was sitting at her table blowing on a freshly microwaved Hot Pocket. Gwen was sitting on the other side of the table of course.

Mary Jane was absolutely covered in glitter and her hair was a mess. To say the party was wild would be an understatement.

Gwen glanced up from her precious Sylvia Plath, "Do you even have a job?"

Mary Jane stopped blowing on her Hot Pocket and looked Gwen in the eyes, "I'm an actress!"

Gwen returned her gaze to her book, "Didn't answer my question."

"Acting is a real job!" Mary Jane cried out.

Gwen lightly shook her head, "Not when you don't get parts."

Mary Jane gripped the table, "I get plenty of parts! In fact I have a part right now."

Gwen raised both eyebrows, "Really? Do tell."

"I'm playing Lady Macbeth for one of those Shakespeare plays in the park."

'Suck on that Stacy,' was not said out loud but it was implied.

"Wow."

Mary Jane smirked, "Impressed?"

It was easy to determine from Gwen's tone that she was only half focused on the conversation, "Surprised, really. I didn't know you could pull something like that off."

Mary Jane's face fell, "Hey, you've never seen me act."

Gwen shrugged, "I went to our school's production of The Little Mermaid."

Oh god. That disaster. Maybe giving a high school freshman that's never been in a play before the lead role in musical for her first semester wasn't the greatest idea. Let's just say the only positive thing to come of that performance was that Mary Jane discovered that she looked better as a redhead. But she had definitely grown as an actor since then. She was pretty sure.

"That was years ago…" she said hoping the insecurity wasn't seeping into her voice, "It's not like you ever had a job."

~~~

Mary Jane couldn't always stop herself from thinking about the night Gwen Stacy died.

She was not there for the actual death. She was with Harry helping him with his latest relapse at the time.

She didn't see Gwen die. No one did. Well, no one but the Green Goblin and Spider-Man.

But just because she didn't watch her die doesn't mean that she wasn't a witness to her death.

She witnessed the way her death left a hole in everyone. The hole tore through personalities and put a strain on relationships. No one that knew Gwen was really the same ever again.

She saw everyone at school cry. At times it felt ridiculous, almost every single one of these kids didn't know Gwen like she knew Gwen. If anyone should be crying in English class it should be her, not those posers. Mary Jane had the decency to mourn privately.

She saw Peter cry many times. The first time she really saw Peter cry was after he yelled at her for not caring. Not caring about Gwen, not caring about him, not caring about anything. He said she wouldn't care if her own mother died. It was in the heat of the moment and he wasn't in a good place, but Mary Jane still wondered whether or not he really meant what he said. They never talked about it afterwards.

She watched as they lowered Gwen's casket into the dirt. The cemetery was fairly decent, and everyone agreed (read as guessed or hoped) that Gwen would have liked it.

Sixteen years old and already six feet under. Mary Jane couldn't believe it. No one could.

~~~

In the middle of the night she woke up to find Gwen next to her. She was flat on her back staring at the ceiling fan.

Her voice was so soft that Mary Jane couldn't tell if the ghost is talking to herself or actually addressing her, maybe neither, "I had a crush on you, y'know."

She didn't know.

~~~

The fifth and final tube of mascara was found when Mary Jane returned from closing night of Macbeth.

It was waiting for her on the coffee table atop an old beat up of copy of Sylvia Plath's works.

Mary Jane doesn't know if she'll ever see Gwen again.

**Author's Note:**

> If there is anything that I didn't tag that you feel I should have don't be afraid to let me know. In fact, please do.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
